


A Girl In the Valley of Kings

by Clicker



Series: Lannister's Pride [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clicker/pseuds/Clicker
Relationships: Jon Snow/Reader
Series: Lannister's Pride [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752901
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

These were one of the few times that Jon was thankful to be a bastard. His cup of wine, full. And his father couldn’t stop him. He was too busy to even catch a glance of Jon as he sat in the back of the great hall, his food still on his plate, little bits and pieces cut off for the small direwolf pup that had settled himself at his feet.

The great hall was filled with eye watering smoke from the freshly cooked meat. The smell wafting from the kitchen as the cooks brought out freshly baked bread that the princes and princesses would surely adore. 

Jon listened to the stories that the young men told around him. He was a boy of fourteen, listening to the stories of men. Stories of battles, beddings, and hunts. They were fine company. People he didn’t mind being around. He was sure he’d prefer it over the king’s offspring. 

He’d gotten a good long look at them all. The royal family that had come from the south. The queen had been escorted by his father into the great hall. Her tiara decked with bright green emeralds that matched her eyes. 

He’d helped her up the platform and into her seat. Though she not once looked at him. Her smile clearly fake. After them came the King and Lady Stark. The king was the biggest disappointment. All the stories of the muscular and brave Robert Baratheon all fell flat when he first laid eyes on the fat king. 

Then came his brother, Robb. With you. Your golden curls, much like your mothers. Pulled up into a southern do, with curls that had been forced in, cascading down your back. A small emerald tiara at the back of your head. The opposite of your mother. 

You were a girl of thirteen, but you looked older. Perhaps a girl of sixteen instead. You were confidant. Chest puffed out, and a bright, genuine smile on your lips as you looked upon the benches of northerners and southerners. You seemed kind. Maybe the only one he’d willingly talk to. 

His sisters escorted the princes. Arya was paired with the chubby young prince, Tommen. His white blonde hair, longer than Arya’s looked as if it belonged to a new born baby, whose hair would eventually turn gold. But so far, had not. Sansa, two years older than Arya, walked in with the crowned prince Joffrey. The prince had the same color hair as you and your mother, as well as a pair of deep green eyes. Slightly different than your and your mother’s bright emerald.

Sansa looked Radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

Jon had seen you speak with Robb, a firm hand on his forearm. Like you were close with him. Of course the princess liked Robb. He was tall, muscular and handsome. He looked just like a southerner. His auburn tully hair and bright tully blue eyes always seemed to draw girls in. 

But Jon had the traditional look of a Stark. Tan skin, dark brown hair and eyes such a dark grey they bordered on black.

A girl as bright as you in looks should be thrilled to be betrothed to a boy just as bright in appearance. He was sure that you would both give the North handsome children. Red in hair he was sure. Possibly green eyes and the pale skin that you both shared. 

He could see the budding friendship between the two of you. Ned had told the two of them, that Jon shared a name day with the princess. Just that Jon was older than you by a year. 

You laughed full heartedly as Robb spoke “And?” You questioned, hand grabbing his forearm as you leaned in closer to hear the rest of the story. 

“We told him to get lost.” Robb shrugged, taking a sip from his wine glass, “Well that’s boring. Such an interesting story with such a boring ending.” You told him.

He laughed so loudly that the people in the south could hear him. “That’s life I suppose.” He responded, sipping his wine. “You’ll learn that one day.” He told you. 

“I’m not your son!” You heard from across the room. Parts of the great hall fell quiet as a boy yelled at Benjen Stark who stood

“More’s the pity.” He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come back to me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own and then we’ll see how you feel”

The boy trembled. “I will never father a bastard.” He said carefully “Never!” He spat out like venom. 

All at once he noticed that the table he was at had fallen quiet. He looked beyond the table to others who had their eyes glued on him. And you could practically see the tears begin to well up in his eyes. 

He stood and with the last shred of his dignity said “I must be excused.” And with that he left for the door, a snow white puppy following shortly after him.

You leaned closer to Robb and asked “Who was he?” you cocked your head to side, keeping your gaze on the people as they ate from their plates. Smoked meat and freshly baked bread that you had already eaten. 

Robb smiled “My bastard half brother, Jon.” He answered. He knew instantly why you wanted to know, and a part of him, was almost thankful. Jon had never even had a serious relationship with a girl. 

You hummed in response, going to stand up “I must excuse myself, I’ll be back.” You said with a smile, going to the stairs of the platform and out of the door, your uncle passing you on the way.

You saw him instantly. He wasn’t hard to miss in a castle full of Stark children who looked like Tullys. “Bit too much to drink?” You asked, hands clasped in front of you. 

He turned to look at you, with a handsome face and a slender figure. He was tan, with a lean build and brown hair. And in this lighting, his eyes looked black. 

He didn’t answer, all he did was stare at you. You sighed and nodded “You can talk. Just because we’re from very different births doesn’t mean we can’t communicate.”

He tried to be respectful, “Lady Stark would ring my neck for talking to you.” He responded in slightly slurred speech. 

It made you smile, “No she wouldn’t. Not if I asked her not to.” 

He looked at you curiously, a small smile gracing his face as well, most noble girls didn’t like talking to bastards. Not really, Sansa hated talking to him, he was sure. Catelyn hated him and any other woman in there except for a few of the cooks wouldn’t talk to him. 

But a princess was willing to speak with a bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

“You see prince Joffrey and princess Y/n?” Jon asked. 

Arya hadn’t seen them at first, so she looked to the golden haired children, elbows hooked together. Their hair matched, but their eyes differed just slightly. The seemed to be closest to each other out of their other siblings. 

They were surrounded by men she did not recognize, squires of in the lievery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all.

“Look at the arms on his surcoat, and her tunic.” Jon suggested.

Arya looked. The needle work was exquisite, the shield on Joffrey’s was divided down the middle, one one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister. On the princess’ was different. The embroidery was even more fine than Joffrey’s. The tunic was gold, with her shields being on the sleeves. One of Lannister, one of Baratheon. Asymmetric. 

“The Lannisters are proud.” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. they make their mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s”

••••

The night was filled with the sound of crickets singing their songs as if they were birds, the occasional sound of an owl hooting into the dark, warm night. But the only sound that came from Jon’s chambers were filled with the low, soft, wet noises of lips connecting together. 

Jon would have sworn up and down on his life and to every single god in existence that she convinced him. That her full hips had lured him in. That her eyes were far more seductive than they should be for a girl of her age. 

The rough calloused hands that touched her bare hips and bottom, kept reminding the princess that he had a different power than her. Strength. 

She had the power of knights and armies that would go to war for her, simply for being the eldest child of Robert Baratheon. But it was a strength he didn’t have. Both of you had a strength the other envied. She could hear Miza telling her this was a bad choice. That sneaking away into a bastard’s chambers was a horrible idea. But you would swear, up and down and upon the seven pointed star that Jon had started it. 

Y/n blamed Jon for many reasons. A week into knowing each other and he’d invited you to play a card game. A stupid thing to agree to. Because next thing Y/n knew, was she was caged between Jon’s arms, only in her shift as he rambled about how he didn’t want to father a bastard, and how it would be a bad idea. He had been arguing with himself. 

“I’ll drink moon tea when I return to King’s Landing.” 

He’d looked almost grateful when she spoke of the strange tea. It was only ever made by maesters in King’s Landing. And the princess knew, she had to convince maester Pycelle to make it for her. 

That is what started this all, sneaking around at night between your chambers, your hips against each other’s, with guilty moans of pleasure echoing off of the warm, dark stone. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t have been with a man before she was married to a husband. 

But Tyrion had spoken of it before, ‘The pleasures of the flesh.’ Her mother had never told her that women would feel that pleasure as well. No one had ever told her of such things. This was new, this was forigen. But it felt right, no matter how wrong it was to others. 

His firm, steady and rough grip on the soft, pale skin on her hips were sure to leave light bruising. And her long fingernails digging into the tan skin that covered his back left scratches. No words were ever truly spoken except for the murmurings of the other’s name. 

Eye contact seemed to be thing that they equally cherished. Grey locked with green, occasionally being broken whenever one felt a particular wave of pleasure. 

They didn’t tell anyone. No one could know. Not even Miza, the handmaid to the young princess knew what the bastard and her were up to every night. She thought they played card games or ran through the godswood. 

Jon knew one thing when he was with her, he was happier. She brought a warm, welcoming sunshine into his room. He knew that he could potentially be falling for the naive girl. 

Y/n knew one thing. She didn’t know how she would feel about this in the end. She’d never see him again after she went back south. Lord Stark had already told the bastard that he’d let him go to the Night’s Watch. 

“What is moon tea exactly?” Jon inquired one night. His head resting on her bare chest, listening to the still heavy, rushed beats of her heart. 

“I don’t know exactly. I know that you won’t have a child if you take it. Maesters prepare it.” she’d responded.


	3. Chapter 3

Y/n was late again. 

She huffed as she tried to tie the corset together, beads of sweat coming onto her forehead as she tried to get it on. She was supposed to be breaking her fast with her mother, brothers and sister. 

On the sixth attempt to put the thick ribbon through the eyelet of her corset, she felt two hands take it from her and begin working on the eyelets. The sound of the fabric against the thicker fabric was one the princess was used to. She was used to a handmaiden coming into her chambers to prepare her for the day. 

Red satin or silk had always adorned her body. The red being a stark contrast against the smooth, pale, freckled skin that the princess had been given. Green often looked nice, matching the emerald color of her eyes

“In a rush?” Jon questioned as he grabbed the wool petticoat that had been specifically made for the trip north. 

Y/n turned to look at the bastard, her pink lips pursed in thought for a moment. Her mother wouldn’t come looking for her, she thought. Y/n had an awful tendency to sleep into the late hours of the morning. The only one ever able to wake her was Joffrey. And he was never allowed in her chambers.

“No” Y/n concluded. Taking the petticoat from him, and stepping into it. “But, I don’t think it would be good for my future marriage if I’m caught with a bastard of Winterfell.” She quipped. 

But instead of the faint smile that Y/n loved, Jon frowned and nodded, helping pick up the garments of her clothing from the floor. 

And for a second Y/n questioned if that was the right comment to make. She grabbed his arm, stopping him from sitting on his bed. A kind smile rested on her face as she stared up at him.

Jon stepped over to her, resting his hands on her hips, pulling her to be chest to chest. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Forgive me?” 

“Nothing to forgive.” Jon Breathed, putting a strand of her hair, behind her ear. 

They were completely infatuated with one another. And the other knew it. Y/n could see it in the way his face softened whenever he saw her. The late nights together were evidence. Jon wouldn’t have done it otherwise. 

“I will never father a bastard.” He said carefully “Never!” He spat out like venom. 

She and Jon had agreed that as soon as she’d return to the capital, she’d see the Grand Maester, and receive a pint of moon tea to keep his seed from quickening. 

What a cruel world it would be if she brought a child into the world, who could never meet their father. It was cruel to begin with, she contemplated, bitterly. She never wanted to be born a princess. She didn’t want the responsibility of having to help make sure her brother was a good king the moment that her father was dead. 

To her, it was cruel that Joffrey would be king one day. That one day, the boy who felt neither Sympathy or Empathy would rule the kingdoms.

She didn’t want the throne for herself. She would be fine if Tommen took it instead of Joff. Oh, how the gods were especially cruel to make it so that Joffrey had been born before Tommen.

“I should be going though.” She told him, holding his cheeks in her hands “Will you help?”

Jon smiled at that, nodding and going to help get her dress over her head. He helped with everything, even her shoes. 

“Will I see you tonight?” He asked, hands holding her hips as he stood behind her. It was in moments like these, when he asked if he would see her again, that would draw her back in.

“Maybe. I may have other duties to attend to tonight.” She teased, turning to look at him only to be greeted with his lips on hers. She hummed into the kiss, a hand holding the back of his head and the other resting on his shoulder. 

She was the one to pull away. “I’ll see you tonight, Snow.” She told him, slipping out of his grip. 

•••

“Are you alright?” 

He nodded, still holding her against him. His strong hand kept her chest against his side. He didn’t speak a word, deciding her presence was a better option than being alone in this rough night. 

“Will he wake up?” She asked again, propping herself up to hover over him. Everyone knew that the boy could die at any moment, but like her younger siblings, she was hoping that the young Stark would wake, and live. 

He nodded again. Silence coating the room. She didn’t like being the only one to speak, she wanted to talk with someone, but she knew Jon had so many things on his mind. The Night’s Watch, Bran, her.

She’d never know what was going on in his mind, no matter how badly she wanted to. She’d never get it all out within this last night. So she let it be. 

When the sun began to rise and peak into the room, illuminating it with its orange glow, she slipped out of his hold. He was sleeping, this was her chance to leave before her mother found out. 

She got herself dressed, The silk dress a contrast to the other materials in the room. 

Fur, wool, and silk. 

She went to the door, but she stopped herself. The princess looked back to the bastard still asleep in his bed. She would eventually forget his face, she knew that. She knew one day she could even forget that any of this had ever happened between them. But she didn’t want him to forget. 

With her shaky hands she unhooked the antler necklace and placed it on his bedside table. She looked at his face. And in that moment she prayed to the gods that one day she’d be able to see those dark grey eyes staring back into her green eyes. 

She leaned over him, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, “May we meet again, Jon Snow.” 


	4. Chapter 4

The Princess looked at her younger brother as he comforted the Lady Sansa. He just looked back at her, a small suspicious smile playing at his lips as their mother spoke to Sansa and Joffrey. 

Their father was out hunting with Lord Stark, leaving them here at the inn. The Princess hadn’t been fond of the smell that came with the dingy stone. It made her stomach churn. Then again, so did the smell of the meat they’d served last night. 

Y/n held Myrcella close to her side, an arm draped over her shoulders as she watched the vocal transactions between Ser Barristan and her young knightley uncle.

She felt her grip on Myrcella tighten when Ser Ilyn Payne came up to Sansa, towering over the young girl with an unsmiling scowl. 

“Let us go.” She spoke to her sister, leading her away from the people and to the waters of the trident. She had her sister’s hand in her own.

“I heard Father say he was thinking about marrying you off to Robb Stark.” Myrcella brought up, coming closer to Y/n’s side, in a protective manner. 

“Yes, but the king already has a Stark, Baratheon match. Between our crowned prince of a brother and the Lady Sansa. He needs to secure his reign even more by marrying us off to different families. All over. Not just to The North. It would be a smart idea to marry one of us to the Martells. To keep them from rebelling, after what happened to Elia Martell and her children.”

Myrcella nodded and stayed quiet. “So you won’t leave me?” 

Y/n smiled and stopped walking, shaking her head ‘no’ “I would never willingly leave you, little sister.” She told her, continuing their calming walk, but she spotted something in the water. 

Y/n let Myrcella’s hand go, walking to the water to see the specs of red. She got down onto her knees on the edge of the mud and the water, the front edges of the gold silk getting wet. She reached in, picking up the red stones that were in the water. There were two very large ones and a few small ones. “Rubies.”

“The prince’s?” Myrcella inquired, squatting down next to her older sister. 

Y/n shrugged. “Prince Rhaegar’s? Perhaps. Awfully strange the the water hasn’t carried them away.”

Myrcella’s turn to shrug came. “They’re pretty.” She commented, making Y/n smile at the younger girl’s happy comment. 

“Maybe… Maybe we can get a necklace made out of them. Two large ones, one for you” Y/n started, placing the ruby in her sister’s hand. “One for me, and then two small ones.” She said happily. 

Myrcella giggled as she held the rubies in her hands “Do you think father would allow us?”

“Does he have to know?” A mischievous grin played at Y/n’s lips before she stood upright, putting the rubies in the pockets of her dress. She’d have to be sure her pockets were tied tightly, so she wouldn’t lose them on the way to King’s Landing. 

When they returned to the inn a commotion was going on, Her father and Lord Stark already back from their hunting trip. 

“Go to your chambers. I’ll tell you when to come out.” Y/n told the younger princess before taking long strides to the center of the camp were Joffrey seemed to be in distress, but the thing that caught her eye was his blood soaked sleeve that was pulled up, revealing a wound on his forearm. 

“Joffrey!” She shouted, picking up the skirt of her dress and running to her younger brother, grabbing him by the face and looking him over. “What happened to you? Who is responsible for this?” She demanded

“That rotten Stark girl and her wolf!” He shot back, he held no contempt for you in his eyes, only anger that you were seeing him this way. 

“Lady Sansa?” She wondered in disbelief, the auburn girl would never do such a thing, she was far too sweet, and a little bit too pretentious.

“No! The younger one!”

Even that didn’t quite make sense in the princess’s mind. Arya wouldn’t do something just to do it, even if she was only a girl of nine and had impulsive tendencies. He had to have done something. She knew her brother like she knew her own mind. And him, her. They had only been born nine months apart, practically raised as twins.

“You let a little girl do this? A little girl set her wolf on you?” She questioned, uncertain that it was true. 

“Yes, she took my sword and threw it into the lake too!” 

She cracked a smile and stepped away from him to get one good look. He was fine, except for the mud and grass stains on the silk of his clothes, and of course the wolf bite that the Direwolf had left on his arm. 

“What did you do to provoke it?”

•••

Three days it took to find the nine year old little girl. She was fierce that one. Y/n could tell. The wolf hadn’t been found and Joffrey’s frustration had been increasing. But, she was found, and the queen called for her to be brought before her and the king.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Stark’s eyes swpt the room, searching for friendly faces. But they were far and few between. Y/n wished she could be one, she wished she could tell the northern lord that she stood with whatever truth Arya had to tell, as opposed to her crowned prince of a brother’s lie. 

“Why was I not told that my daughter had been found?” He demanded, his voice ringing against the cold stone. “Why was she not brought to me at once?” 

He had spoken to the king, but instead, it was the queen who answered “How dare you speak to your king in that manner!”

Y/n wanted to tell her mother it was fine, that her father was friends with this man, they could be far more casual with each other than Robert with any other one of his subjects.

“Quiet, woman,” Robert snapped as he straightened up in his seat. “I am sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get the business done with quickly.”

“And what business is that?” Ned’s voice was ice cold, like the land he came from.

The queen stepped forward. “You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. Her and her butcher’s boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off.”

Y/n wanted to be the one to tell her mother differently, but she wasn’t there, either way, Arya had spoken up faster than she could. 

“That’s not true,” Arya said loudly, “She just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah.”

“Joff told us what happened,” the queen said. “You and the butcher boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.”

“That’s not how it was,” Arya said, close to tears. Ned put a protective hand on her shoulder.

“Yes it is!” Joffrey insisted. “They all attacked me, and threw Lion’s Tooth in the river!” Y/n rolled her eyes at Joffrey, knowing the lies that swam from his mouth so easily. 

“Liar!” Arya shouted

“Shut up!” Joffrey yelled back. 

Y/n hit Joffrey in the chest with all the strength she would be allowed to show in front of all these people. 

“Enough!” The king roared, rising from his seat, his voice thick with much irritation. Silence overtook the room. He looked at Arya through his thick heard. “Now, child, you will tell me what happened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king.” Robert then looked to his oldest children. “And when she is done, Joffrey, you will have your turn. Until then, hold your tongue.”

Y/n smiled smugly as Joffrey let a low growling huff out. 

Arya began her story, telling of how Joffrey had begun to cut the butcher’s boy’s cheek with his sword. It angered Y/n more than she could describe. Knowing that it was the truth. She’d always known when her younger brother lied. 

But, Y/n too laughed with her uncle Renly when Arya told them of how she threw the sword into the water. The king bristled. “Ser Barristan, escort my daughter and brother from the hall.”

Y/n shook her head to the knight and continued to laugh at Joffrey’s miserable ten minutes three days ago. “My brother is too kind. We can find the door ourselves.” He spoke, still stifling his laughter, holding an arm out for Y/n to take. 

“You’re highness.” She spoke to her brother as she hooked elbows with her uncle, walking to the exit of the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

The moment that they had all arrived back in the city, the idea of moon tea was on the princess’s mind. She’d have to ask the Grand Maester for it. She didn’t know how to make it, and the fear was seeping into her bones. She was overtaken by it when her blood didn’t come. That was the first worrisome part. 

Then again, the princess had only started her bleeding a year before. Ever since then, the king had been trying to find her a suitable match. Oh, the dowery would be a hefty one, that was for sure. Soldiers, money, and half of a navy fleet. Oh yes, the king didn’t mess around when he was trying to get rid of his liabilities that were called daughters. How disappointing it had to have been when his first child popped out a girl instead of the prince that he’d been wanting. 

The blood never came. But the sickness did. The stops she made the wheelhouse make every morning, just so she could vomit up whatever she had just eaten, had been a growing concern among everyone. Seeing the princess who’d always had such a strong stomach throwing up every morning was cause for concern. Especially to Miza, who was beginning to put together to dots

The tenderness of the princess’s chest was also a large concern for the handmaiden and friend of the young girl. She was always strong, and liked to deny when she was in pain, a fault in her personality due to her pride. 

It didn’t even take a full two weeks for Miza to realize that Y/n was bloating. Her chest only slightly noticeably larger. And when she had tried to bring it to the girl’s attention, she’d snapped at her. 

Because the princess knew as well. 

She knew she was with child. A bastard’s bastard. 

She thought the moon tea could expel the bastard from her body. But when Y/n had asked Pycelle about moon tea he looked at her and laughed saying “Only whores drink moon tea.”

Her pride wouldn’t allow anyone to believe that she was a whore. She refused. So she just shrugged it off. Pretending as if it wasn’t an issue. 

It didn’t matter. Not truly. She was sure she’d miscarry the child. Truth be told, she wasn’t attached. Plenty of women miscarried. Especially when they were as young as she was. 

“The tourney is in a few days, have you decided which dress to wear yet?” the queen asked, going through the wardrobe full of light silk dresses Y/n could wear to the tourney. 

Miza struggled to pull the corset tighter on Y/n’s waist. Y/n had never come out and told Miza. But Miza knew, and she was loyal to only one person in the castle. And that was Y/n. She’d do anything to protect the girl’s honor. Even if it meant tying the corset so tight Y/n struggled to breath. 

“The black one. The one uncle Renly had made for me. With the green shawl.” 

_It was the only one that would fit in a few days._ Y/n thought bitterly. 

“That one? Why not red? Or yellow? You’ve always looked exquisite in Red.” Cersei commented, pulling out a red gown that Cersei had fitted for Y/n. “You could wear your brother’s old vest with it.” She added. 

Joffrey was always larger than Y/n. In birthsize, in height, weight and he was always stronger. She was always petite, standing below Miza, who was already small as it was. Y/n could pass for an eleven year if she tried hard enough.

“I could just wear his vest with my black one. His vest is red, no?”

Cersei’s hand dropped, letting the dress touch the ground as Miza tied off the strings of the corset. “Your father won’t have you wearing Targaryen colors.” She commented to the princess, so quiet that the queen wouldn’t hear. 

“I can wear green and black. Like uncle Renly and Stannis.” She insisted, holding her hands up to get into the dress Miza was trying to help her get into. 

“Ugly colors.” Cersei commented. “Black has never suited you. But, if you insist on pretending it’s a mourning period, you can.”

“I’ve always thought black looked good on anyone.” Y/n quipped, letting Miza make adjustments to her hair. Cersei turned back to look at her daughter. “I only meant that it’s a neutral color. Like that one shade of blue I like. It looks good on anyone.” 

Cersei nodded, a forced smile on her face “Little Lion, you’ve always been very perceptive, but the back talk will one day get you hurt.” She responded, nearing her daughter as Miza put the gold hair of Y/n in a hairnet, adorned with emeralds and pearls. “Of course, I’m sorry mother, I was foolish to speak.” Y/n lied. Giving her mother a smile. 

Cersei held her daughter’s cheeks, a kind smile now adorning her face “With me, it’s fine, but you know that with your father or your future husband, it might not be as fine.” 

Y/n nodded. “Of course. I’ll do better.” She promised. 

Cersei nodded once more “Good. I’m just looking out for you, Little Lion.” And with that Cersei left. And when Y/n went to the dress that her mother had left on the edge of the bed, not even two steps into her journey from her location in the room to the second location, she felt the sudden lightheadedness reach her, and she felt her body carry her closer to the ground instead of the bed. 

“Princess!” Miza gasped.

“What do you mean she fainted?” The queen demanded from the handmaiden who ran out to get her back to the room. The room that she was now sleeping in. The dress and corset now removed from Y/n’s body, in fear that the tightness had been what caused it. Had Y/n been struggling for air? Was it too little? Or was it the little food that the princess could actually keep down? Because within the last month, she had eaten plenty, only to then lose it all minutes later. 

“She went to walk to the bed and she fainted! Your Grace, I fear something’s wrong!” Miza said in a rushed tone, trying to get the queen to follow back to Y/n’s room. 

She didn’t have to try hard before Cersei was already heading back to her daughter’s room. Cersei didn’t have much suspicion as to what was happening to her daughter, at this point, 5 weeks into Y/n’s constant sickness, was worrying. 

Y/n had begun to wake up when they came in, the sun peaking through the window blinding her for a few seconds before she looked away. Cersei rushed to Y/n, sitting right next to her on the bed and pulling Y/n to rest on her. “Are you feeling alright, Little Lion?” She questioned. 

Y/n couldn’t keep lying anymore. She wasn’t. She was constantly in a state of feeling ill. She wanted it to go away. She just wished she could have gotten to the moon tea quicker than she did. And she wished Grand Maester Pycelle wasn’t such a prick. 

“No. No mother, I’m not feeling well.”

“Your Grace, should I call upon Grand Maester Pycelle?” Miza questioned. She was like the princess’s big sister, and best friend. Seeing Y/n in this state, made her feel ill as well. 

“Yes, thank you, Miza.” Cersei said to the handmaiden, holding her daughter tightly. 

“Is there anything you have to tell me?” Cersei asked, Y/n shook her head. She didn’t want to admit it to anyone what happened between her and the bastard of Winterfell. 

She didn’t want to admit that right at this moment she wanted him to be the one to hold her, not her mother. She wanted Jon by her side. She wanted to tell him about the big mistake she made. That she was carrying his child, and even now, wanted to drink moon tea to cleanse herself of the shame she’d bring her entire family. 

Would he hate her for that thought?

The Maester had come in with Miza explaining what was happening to her. Her secrecy was about to crumble. 

He asked many questions about how Y/n was feeling, whether it was just like a stomach bug, or something she’d never experienced before. And, well, it was a new experience. 

He was coming to the conclusion, and Y/n and Miza both knew it. He was close to deducing the child’s existence. 

“Do forgive me, your highness, but, have you recently lost your maidenhead?” 

Cersei tensed up, giving the old man a glare, “That’s quite enough Grand Maester Pycelle.” She declared. 

“Yes.” Y/n blurted out. “I lost it recently.” She concluded. 

Cersei turned to look down at the thirteen year old girl in her arms. It couldn’t be processing correctly in her head. This was her oldest child, but she was still young. Y/n was still so young. 

“When was the last time you came into contact with a man?” He questioned again. She didn’t like the maester. He was strange, and he made her feel uncomfortable. 

“three months ago.” She lied. She couldn’t tell them a month. They’d know. They’d think she laid with the Stark heir. They’d want to marry her off to him as fast as they could. But she couldn’t do that to Robb. She couldn’t do it to Jon, or this child. 

“Well, your highness, it would appear as if you’re with child.” He told her, gesturing to her flat stomach. Y/n placed two protective hands on her stomach when he pointed to her. She didn’t appreciate it, not one bit. 

“Shall I tell the king?” 

It happened suddenly, the way Cersei pounced on the old man. Grabbing him by the collar of his robes and slamming him against the wall to threaten him not to tell the king of his daughter’s… predicament. 

“You dare tell the king, and I will have you smothered in your sleep! Is that understood? If you dare speak about your time in this room, i will have you killed. Understand me Maester Pycelle!?” 

Miza had rushed to Y/n’s side, pulling her to the opposite side of the bed, watching as Cersei continued to make threats whenever Pycelle told her he had to tell the king. 

“Don’t speak a word of this!” Cersei demanded, letting him go and pointing to the door “Get out.” 

He listened, quickly scurrying from the room, leaving the three of them in the room alone. They were all praying that he didn’t tell the king. 

“May I take moon tea?” Y/n questioned, looking up at her mother, who held pity in her eyes, seeing the pain in her daughter’s face. 

She didn’t know why. She didn’t know that Y/n was regretting never really saying goodbye to the father of this child. Especially after the last thing he told her, the last truth that was spoken between them. 

“Your highness, I fear, that I have fallen in love with you.”

She had never told him she loved him back. And very slowly, she was realizing she loved him. That she loved the way he smiled at her, and the way he played with her hands. She wished she could go back to that moment, look up at him, the only light in the room being the candle that was so far away, just so she could stare up at him, and tell him she loved him. But she had just laughed and kissed him. 

Gods, she had to have broken his heart at that moment. She never wanted to hurt him. She wanted to love him, she wanted to say his name to him again. She wanted to hear the name he called her when they were alone in his chambers. 

“Come back to bed, Tornado.”

She didn’t know why he always insisted on calling her after a type of storm. But she loved it. She found it endearing. 

This was Gods trying to punish her for leaving him without a word. Leaving him only a necklace to remember her by. But the gods forgot themselves, they could brew moon tea.

“We’ll see, Little Lion. You have many options. And you must think through them all”


	6. Chapter 6

The crowned prince had always been cruel. But not to his dear older sister. Barely even 10 months younger, Prince Joffrey and Princess Y/n had been raised as if they were twins. They were each other’s best friends. 

It was a strange dynamic. Everyone knew it. They were the new generation’s Jaime and Cersei Lannister. Of course they didn’t look exactly alike. But there was no doubt that the two were related. 

During social events, the two were usually hooked at the arm, or dancing together if the occasion called for it. Most people noticed how attached Joffrey was to his sister. Often refusing to leave her side. 

The tourney was no different. 

Joffrey wore a deep blue blue doublet, studded with a double row of golden lion heads. His trousers were a dark grey color and his boots were even darker. He wore a slim golden coronet, Sapphires embedded into the metal. 

Y/n wore an old dress that Cersei had fitted for her last minute. It had been the Queen’s in her early days of pregnancy with the princess. 

It was a strange shape, the overlayer of the dress had firm edges, that held themselves up above her hips, and showed the underlayer that was purple tones grey. 

They looked like the cookie cutter example of what royals should be. poise, calm, collected, _related_. 

Y/n often found it hard to hate her brother. He was charismatic. Though, not particularly intelligent. He had a sadistic personality. Not that he ever showed it to Y/n. She knew he was mean, and a liar, but because was always sweet around her, he often let things he didn’t agree with go. Except for Arya Stark’s Direwolf. 

Would he let this child’s existence go? Y/n found herself often thinking about it within the last day. She was questioning herself. She and Jon had agreed that she’d drink moon tea the moment she came to King’s Landing. But it never happened. 

Her mother was right. She did have many options to think through. But very quickly, she’d made her decision. But she didn’t care if it brought shame to the family. To the king. 

She wanted this baby. She didn’t have anything of Jon. A man she was slowly realizing she loved. If this child was the only thing she had of him, she wasn’t going to get rid of it. She wasn’t going to let it be raised by someone else. 

The tourney was over as fast as it had started. To Y/n at least. She’d been consumed with her thoughts. Consumed with the thoughts of the father of her child, and the grandfather. 

Maybe Lord Stark could get a letter to Jon. Maybe Jon could know about the child he was about to have. 

No. It was best to keep it a secret. Jon already had so many things on his mind, she was sure. 

The moment Y/n had gotten back to the castle, she’d separated from Joffrey and went to her chambers, only allowing Miza to follow after her. 

“You’ll gain people’s suspicion if you run off like that.” She scolded Y/n. The princess took a seat on a cushioned seat. 

“Let the women of the court gossip. They’re always blabbering away anyway. Whispering in corridors.” Y/n huffed, pushing herself from the seat and going to look out the window “They gossip of the Targaryen girl across the sea. I hear she’s pregnant. Must be the only thing I have in common with any Targaryen. My father wants her dead. Did you know that? A girl my age, pregnant, and my father wants her killed. What will he do to me? If he finds out I’m carrying a child?”

Miza let out a breath of air in a frustrated manner. “The king won’t harm you. You’re his daughter, flesh and blood. Daenerys Targaryen is from an enemy house. One of the last Targaryens.”

Y/n was letting her mind run wild. “What if the court finds out? Then what? They’ll shame me! And Joffrey! He’s always been cruel!”

Miza had taken long strides across the room and grabbed the sides of Y/n’s cheeks, making her go quiet. “The king, the court and your damned brother will not harm you. Not while your mother is alive. Your brother and the court certainly won’t hurt or speak ill of you while your father is alive. Understood?”

The Princess nodded, and Miza went to clean things around the room. Letting the princess look out over Blackwater bay. She loved the water. The salty smell it gave off, she wished she could touch it. She wanted to be in it. But She’d never learned to swim. Beautiful waters, often filled with some ships sailing to Dorne, or Storm’s End. Maybe even to the North, to White Harbor. 

A stuttering hand rested on Y/n’s stomach. Such a precious thing. A child anyway. She once remembered when a lady of the court had a child. He had been such a small little thing. Tufts of red hair on his head and when he opened his eyes to look around at all the women cooing over him, they had all been greeted with dark blue eyes. 

She wondered what this child would look like. Would they have her eyes, or, Jon’s. Emerald against dark storm grey. His tan skin, or, her pale? What of the hair? Gold or dark brown?

She was so swept up in her thoughts that she could barely react when she felt the bile rising in her throat. But when she did, she could only turn from the window and let it onto the floor. 

“Your Highness!” Miza cried out, seeing the vomit laying on the floor. “Go sit, I’ll clean this up.” She told Y/n. 

Y/n was close to tears in embarrassment. But she listened, going to sit on the edge of her bed. The blue sheets providing her a comfort. How many times would she yearn to have Jon by her side. 

She’d never have him by her side again. She knew that. 


	7. Chapter 7

“So, was it the bastard?” 

Y/n hated Miza in this moment. Trying to make small talk while she let loose the breakfast she had eaten only a short thirty minutes ago. It was an ongoing cycle. She could barely hold anything down for more than an hour. 

“Shut up.” She heaved, coughing into the bowl. 

She believed herself to be stronger than this. But apparently, she wasn’t. Apparently, she was only witty.

That was a strike to her ego. A big one. One she’d always had since she was small. Joffrey had it too. But his was far worse. Being the heir to the throne after all. 

“Alright. Well, since it is the bastard’s babe, we should speak to Lord Stark. I’m sure he’ll want to help you.” Miza suggested, pulling the bowl from her grasp when she was finished. 

There was a burning in the back of Y/n’s throat. As if she’d swallowed boiling hot water and had let it burn her. 

She turned her head to look at the handmaiden. Could she trust the lord? He’d ordered the capturing of her uncle Tyrion when he was on his way back to King’s Landing. Not that she held much love for the imp. She only felt love for those closest to her. Mother, brothers, and sister. And of course, the bastard of Winterfell. 

She was surprised that she had grown so fond of Jon Snow, that she fell in love with him. She had never been know for being loving. Many people in the seven kingdoms spoke of her beauty. Not of her personality. How she could be equally cruel as Joffrey if she wanted to be.

But she wasn’t often. She had a far better temperament. And though she wasn’t quick to forget, she was to forgive. She remembered every slight against her.

“How could I trust him with the information about my child?” 

Miza smiled. “Most Lords leave their bastards where they were born, and always listen when their wives ask to send them away. Lord Stark never did. He kept the bastard in his walls. Protected him. Loved him. He would love his grandchild.” 

•••

“Lord Stark.” The Princess greeted, a small kind smile on her face as she looked down at the injured Ned Stark. “I trust you’re healing?” 

He looked at her suspiciously. She was only a girl of thirteen. And among the most secretive of the court, knew her to be beautiful, yet, unreadable. Continuing to allude Littlefinger and Varys of her standing on things. She rarely spoke to any of her handmaidens, unless it was an off handed comment about how they were doing. She never spoke to the stewards unless it was to thank them or chastise them. And around the king? She never spoke a word. 

Varys and Littlefinger had told him, how she never spoke to them willingly. Prefering to keep her secrets to herself. 

“Princess. I wasn’t expecting you.” He spoke, the steward taking care of the room around him. 

“Leave.” The princess spoke to him. He had quickly left the room at her demand, and she closed the door behind him. “I must speak to you about something. Something serious.” She told him, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, holding the gold shawl around her shoulders.

“What would you like to speak about?” 

He saw the hesitation on her face as she looked at her lap. The red gown suited her. The typical Lannister look

“I can longer deny, that I am with child. Your son’s child. Jon’s child.” She admitted plainly. Giving him an empty expression.

Suddenly, he realized what they all meant, how unreadable she was. He didn’t know why she would come here. He couldn’t tell why. Was she looking for help, or just telling him plainly?

“Jon? You’re with child? When did thi-”

“My Lord.” She interrupted “Right before we came to King’s Landing.” 

He nodded, processing it, his mind wouldn’t allow him to. He couldn’t comprehend Jon having a child. He would be devastated if he found out he’d left the princess with a child. Jon would never meet his child. 

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but why tell me?”

He could have sworn he saw an emotion cross her face for a quick moment. “I’m scared. And I trust you. This child is of your blood.” She told him. 

He sighed slightly, but when the tears had been brought to her cheeks he felt a fatherly instinct kick in. He grabbed her gently, pulling her down for a hug. She began to sob into his shoulder. “I’m so scared Lord Stark. I don’t know what to do. I loved Jon so much, and I already love this child. I can’t bring myself to drink moon tea.” 

“Does anyone else know? Anyone who could give it away?”

She nodded “Grand Maester Pycell. Mother knows, and so does my handmaiden, but they won’t tell anyone. Promise me Lord Stark. Please. You musnt tell a soul.”

She struck a cord in him. The words of Lyanna in his head becoming mixed with her own. 

_“Promise me, Ned.”_

_“I promise, you Lya.”_

They were both equally scared. No matter how much Ned had loved his younger sister, she was gone, and he could no longer help her. But he could help Y/n. 

“I will tell no one. Not even your father. And we will figure out what to do with Pycelle. I promise you Princess.” 

She pulled away from the hug, the happiest smile on her face, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you Lord Stark.”

“Please, call me Ned.” 

She nodded “Please, _Ned_ , call me S/n” He nodded as well. “I will help you through this, no doubt your mother will as well.”

•••

“Mother? Where are we going?” The princess asked, following quickly behind the queen, salmon colored dress trailing behind her. 

“We are meeting someone.” She spoke, reaching behind her for Y/n’s hand and pulling her close to her side. 

The sun was setting. Casting an angry orange and red color through any window. She’d always loved sunset. The colors in the sky had always been beautiful. 

The large oak heart tree of the godswood came into view “Far away from the spider’s little birds.” Cersei spoke.

Looking ahead to the oak tree, Y/n could see Lord Stark, waiting for them. But once they reached him, Cersei holding Y/n close to her side. 

“You brought her? I called upon you to be alone.” He spoke in a frustrated manner, but he gave a gentle look to Y/n. 

“She is my eldest child. And if she is to learn the world, then she must come to all my meetings.” The queen spoke, voice full of venom “Why here, Stark?”

“So the gods can see.”

Cersei pulled Y/n to sit on the grass, as she did the same, an arm around the princess’s shoulders. And Ned finally saw, just how protective the queen was over her children. 

“I know the truth Jon Arryn died for,”

“Do you?” Cersei watched his face, wary as a cat. “Is that why you called me Lord Stark? To pose me riddles? Or is it your intent to seize me, as your seized my broth?”

“If you truly believed that, you would never have come.” Ned touched her cheek with a gentle hand, were the bruise Robert had left her was. “Has he done this before?”

“Once or twice.” Cersei shied away, holding her daughter even closer. “Never on the face before. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life.” Cersei looked at him defiantly “My brother is worth a hundred of your friends.”

Ned looked to Y/n carefully, not sure if he could say this in front of her. But Cersei knew why they were meeting. “Your brother, or your lover?”

“Both.” 

Y/n felt a wave of disgust crash into her, at the sudden admission from her mother. “Since we were children together. And why not? The Targaryens wed brother to sister for three hundred years, to keep bloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one of two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot the old maester said. When he is in me, I feel… whole.”

Y/n was horrified with Cersei’s admittance. Since they were children? That could mean she or one or more of her siblings weren’t Robert’s. Or maybe none of them were.

“My son Bran…”

Cersei didn’t look away “He saw us. You love your children, do you not?”

Y/n looked down to the grass, the awkwardly looked around the godswood of the red keep. 

“With all my heart.” 

“No less do I love mine.” 

Ned didn’t even hesitate to say it “All four are Jaime’s.”

“Thank the gods.”

Y/n looked up at her mother, and Cersei looked down at her, a kind smile on her face. The smile she only ever gave to her children.

“Thirteen years, how is it that you have had no children by the king?”

Y/n leaned into her mother’s arms as if she were still a young child. To an on looker it would look fairly strange, seeing a thirteen year old girl curled up against her mother. 

Cersei looked back up at him defiantly “Your Robert got me with child once,” He voice thick with contempt. “My brother found a woman to cleanse me. He never knew. If truth be told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and I have not let him inside me for years. I know other way to pleasure him, when he leaves his whores long enough to stagger up to my bedchamber. Whatever we do, the king is usually so drunk that he’s forgotten it all by the next morning.”

Y/n felt like an idiot. Despite all the many times her tutors told her that she was far too smart for a girl of her age. And far too mouthy with them when they tried to correct her on things she knew was right. 

Yet, for all that supposed intelligence, she was never able to notice that she and her siblings looked nothing like their father. But now she could. Now she could pin point how similar Joffrey and Jaime looked. How similar she looked to him as well. It was uncany. 

“I remember Robert as he was the day he took the throne, every inch a king,” Ned spoke quietly “A thousand other women might have loved him with all their hearts. What did he do to make you hate him so?”

Y/n already knew the look she had to be giving Ned. The look where her eyes looked like green wildfire being set ablaze. 

“The night of our wedding feat, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister’s name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine and he whispered Lyanna.”

“I do not which of the three of you I pity the most.” He spoke. Gesturing to Y/n, for having to hear this all come from her mother. But she’d heard far worse from the stewards and knights, who visited brothels every night. 

“Save your pity for yourself, Lord Stark. I want none of it.” Cersei seemed amused, rubbing small comforting circles in Y/n’s upper back. All this time she’d stayed quiet. Listening. Soaking up the information like a sponge. Like her mother had taught her to do. 

“Must?” Cersei asked, her hand stopping it’s circular motions, now holding Y/n even closer, if that was possible. Resting a hand on the Lord’s good leg. Right above the knee “A true man does what he will, not what he must.” Her fingers. He fingers brushing lightly against his thigh, making Y/n squirm a little bit at how comfortable Cersei seemed to be so willing to do this in front of her. “The ream needs a strong Hand. Joff will not come of age for years. No one wants war again, least of all me.” Her hand touched Ned’s face, his hair. “If friends can turn into enemies, enemies can become friends. Your wife is a thousand leagues away, and my brother has fled. Be kind to me, Ned. I swear to you, you shall never regret it.”

“Did you make the same offer to Jon Arryn?” 

Cersei slapped him. 

“Mother!”

“I shall wear that as a badge of honor,” Ned stated dryly.

“Honor,” Cersei spat. “How dare you play the noble lord with me! What do you take me for? You’ve a bastard of your own, I’ve seen him. Who was the mother I wonder? Some Dornish peasant you raped while her holdfast burned? A whore? Or was it the grieving sister, the Lady Ashara? She threw herself into the sea, I’m told. Why was that? For the brother you slew, or the child you stole? Tell me, my honorable Lord Eddard, how are you any different from Robert, or me, or Jaime?”

Y/n had fully retreated from her mother’s arms at that point, and stood against the oak heart tree. Preferring it to being in her grasp. She couldn’t look at her. The lies she’d been fed since the moment she had been brought into the world.

“For a start,” Said Ned, “I do not kill children. You would do well to listen, my lady. I shall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You and your children. All four, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow.”

Ned gave the princess a look. And she understood it completely now. Part of it was because of his loyalty to the king. The other, is what seemed to be his protectiveness that he had suddenly developed over her. 

“Exile,” Cersei said. “A bitter cup to drink from.”

“A sweeter cip than your father served Rhaegar’s children,” Ned spoke, “And kinder than you deserve. Your father and your brother would do well to go with you. Lord Tywin’s gold will buy you comfort and hire swords to keep you safe. You shall need them. I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert’s wrath will follow you, the the back of beyond if need be.” 

Y/n couldn’t bare to be any farther away from Jon than she already was. She didn’t want to go any farther south or east. North would be fine with her. 

The queen stood. “And what of my wrath, Lord Stark?” She asked softly. Her emeralds searched his face. “You should have taken the realm for yourself. It was there for the taking. Jaime told me how you found him on the Iron Throne the day King’s Landing fell, and made him yield it up. That was your moment. All you needed to do was climb those steps, and sit. Such a sad mistake.”

“I have made more mistakes than you can possibly imagine,” Ned said, “but that was not one of them.”

“Oh, but it was, my lord,” Cersei insisted “When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.”

Cersei brought her hood of the cloak over her head again to hide the bruise on her face, and turned to Y/n. “Come now, Little Lion.” 

It brought a whole new meaning to her nickname.


	8. Chapter 8

“Ned!” She banged on the door, having already reached the door before the king’s steward could. Her fist banging banging against his door. “Lord Stark!” She yelled once more, before feeling Tomard grab her shoulder and gently move her out of the way, begginning to knock on the door himself “Lord Eddard,” He called loudly. 

She was nervous. The maester said the king wasn’t looking well. He could pass within the day. She wouldn’t be able to comprehend what would happen if Joffrey became king when she had her child. The Night’s Watch was for exile. Mostly murderers and rapists. A few who willingly went to find a place where they could have meals and a place to live. 

Joffrey wouldn’t care about that rule. He’d send a man up there to kill Jon for laying an intimate hand on her body. 

“A moment.” He grumbled back. Not even in that moment that was promised later, Ned opened the door, clearly having just woke from his slumber. 

“My lord Hand,” The Steward spoke “His Grace commands your presence. At once.”

Ned nodded, giving her a questioning gaze. “I shall need a few moments to dress.” He spoke, closing the door again, leaving them in the hall. The men standing there as if they were guards. Tomard never gave a single emotion. Much like her own. 

Y/n had walked with Ned to the royal apartments. Another Royal steward introducing them into the room.

“Her Highness, Princess Y/n Baratheon and Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King,” 

Y/n didn’t enter the room with grace, instead going to her uncle, if she could call him that anymore “Uncle Renly, please, what happened?” She hadn’t properly been told.

“Y/n I will tell you-”

“Mother, you were not there. He was.” Y/n spat, giving her mother a look of Animosity, looking back to Renly as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “A boar, your highness. It bit him.”

“A devil,” The king husked. “My own fault. Too much wine, damn me to hell. Missed my thrust.”

“And where were the rest of you?” Ned demanded, turning to Renly who was busy trying to calm the worriedness coming from the princess. “Where were Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard?”

Renly’s mouth twitched. “My brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take the boar alone.”

Renly was by far the uncle Y/n had the closest relationship with. Having only been nine when she was born, he took more of an older brother position over her. Often shielding her from the hits Joffrey would give her when they were younger playing with wooden swords. Which mostly meant making the prince stop. 

Ned lifted the blanket.

They had done the most they could to seal up the wound. But it was nowhere near enough. The boar had done the most damage she’d ever seen. 

The bandages were already soaked with blood, the smell was awful, the oncoming smell of death. A smell she’d never been exposed to in her life. Maybe Jon Arryn, but Cersei had kept her and her siblings away from the former Hand’s body. 

“Stinks,” Robert said. “The stink of death, don’t think I can’t smell it. Bastard did me good eh? But I… I paid him back in kind, Ned.” The king smiled, an awful smile. His teeth red with blood. “Drove a knife right through his eye. Ask them if I didn’t. Ask them.”

“Truly,” Lord Renly murmured. “We brought the carcass back with us, at my brother’s command.”

“For the feast,” Robert whispered. “Now leave us. The lot of you. I need to speak with Ned.”

“Robert, my sweet lord …” Cersei began. 

“I said leave,” Robert insisted “What part of that don’t you understand, woman?”

Renly was already leading the princess out, side to side, holding her left hand with his, and his right hand holding her shoulders. 

He didn’t want her to see the king dying. 

They had been called in shortly after, to see Ned put the wax seal on Robert’s letter for his counsel. 

“Will I dream?” 

Ned smiled sadly “You will, my lord.” 

“Good,” He said smiling. “I will give Lyanna your love, Ned. Take care of my children for me.” He said before looking to the only ‘child’ of ‘his’ in the room. “Come here, girl.” Renly gently let her go and gave her a small push to encourage her.

“I’m here father.” She told him, sitting on his bedside. 

He nodded, cupping her cheek gently. “You look like your mother, but you are a thousand times more kind. And I wish I could have given you away at your wedding. Watched you come into your own. A strong woman.” He spoke, “Ned, be sure that she is married to your son, Robb. I’m certain he will give her all the care and love she would ever need.” 

Ned nodded hesitantly, “I will, Your Grace.”

“Sometimes I wish you had been my only true born. My only heir. You would have made the best queen.” 

“A king does more work than a queen.” She brought herself to say. But Robert shook his head. “No, you would do far more work than any of the kings combined.” He encouraged. 

“I will do just as much, as a lady. As Robb Stark’s wife. One day I will be Lady of Winterfell, wife the warden I’m sure.” Rober nodded now, a proud smile on his face 

“Guide your brother. I fear you are the only person he listens to.”

“I promise.” 

Robert smiled, and closed his eyes, and sagged into the bed. But Y/n broke into a sob. Ned was going to move to get her, but Renly moved first, pulling her away and holding her as if he was her own father. 

••••

Y/n had been dressed in the finest silks. A black dress for Robert, the ruby necklace around her neck, and Myrcella’s matching one around her’s. 

Joffrey had given her a seat next to him, letting her sit so close, it was if he was giving her almost equal power. 

But, still, she had to stare up at him, for how tall the throne was. Fifteen feet tall, a struggle to climb. And sharp edges still remained from centuries old swords. Some Valyrian steel. 

Joffrey seemed to have no respect for the man he’d been told was his father. Wearing a gold soublet and red cape to go along with it. Lannister colors. No wonder Cersei had always insisted on her children wearing the Lannister colors, because they were all Lannister. 

“All hail His Grace, Joffrey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” A royal steward sang out 

Ned stepped into the throne room, looking up to the boy king in his throne. He was not yet fit for it. 

They were surrounded by guards. Lannister guards. Some of the Kingsguard, and The Hound stood close by, his snarling dog helm on his head. 

Joffrey stood, his red satin cape flittering a bit as he did, the gold stitched lions and stags catching the light. 

“I command the council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation,” Joffrey proclaimed. “I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors.”

Ned pulled out the letter she had witnessed him seal for Robert. “Lord Varys, be so kind as to show this to my lady of Lannister.”

Varys carried the letter to Cersei. She glanced at the words “Protector of the Realm,” she read. “Is this meant to be your shield, my lord? A piece of paper?” She ripped the letter into small pieces, letting them fly to the floor. 

Y/n’s lips parted barely a half inch, looking at her mother as if she’d lost her mind. 

“Those were the king’s words,” Ser Marristan said, shocked.

“We have a new king now,” Her mother responded “Lord Eddard, when we last spoke, you gave me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear fealty to my son, and we shall allow you to step down as Hand and live out your days in the grey waste you call home.”

“Would that I could,” Ned said grimly. “Your son has no claim to the throne he sits. Lord Stannis is Robert’s true heir.”

“Liar!” Joffrey screamed, his face reddening.

Myrcella looked at Y/n “Sister, what does he mean?” She asked Plaintively “Isn’t Joff the king now?” 

Ned and Y/n shared a knowing glance, he looked to see if she was okay with him for doing this, but he was met with a smirk from the young girl. A copy of Cersei’s. 

“No, he isn’t.” She answered her sister. 

He gave her in impressed look. Such courage against her brother, in front of so many. 

“You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark,” said Cersei. “Ser Barristan, seize this traitor.” The knight seemed to hesitate. In the blink of an eye he was surrounded by Stark men. “And now the treason moves from words to deeds,” Cersei said. “Do you think Ser Barristan stands alone, my lord?” With an ominous rasp of metal on metal, the Hound drew his longsword. The knights of the Kingsguard and twenty Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks moved to support him. 

“Kill him!” the boy king screamed down from the Iron Throne. “Kill all of them, I command it!” 

“You leave me no choice,” Ned told Cersei Lannister. He called out to Janos Slynt. “Commander, take the queen and her children into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard.” 

“Men of the Watch!” Janos Slynt shouted. A hundred gold cloaks leveled their spears and closed. “I want no bloodshed,” Ned told the queen. “Tell your men to lay down their swords, and no one need—”

Tomard was stabbed with a single, sharp thrust through his back. His blade dropped from his fingers. And blood burt through his ribs. 

“Joffrey! This is madness!” She yelled to her brother as chaos began to ensue. “You musn’t do this!” 

“Sister, he is a traitor! He has committed treason!”

This went far beyond Ned. This would cause a war if he was to kill him. Y/n knew that. The lady Sansa was safe, Cersei would not break the engagement. But Arya, she could be harmed. And she knew where to find her. Based upon what Ned told Y/n of her dancing teacher. She’d overheard Sansa once complaining about how Arya only ever spent time with the dancing master.

So she ran looking for her, dodging stewards and handmaidens as best she could, skirts held up so she could run. It was once she reached the kitchens that she found her, after she had pushed a potboy out of the way, and Arya had knocked into her. 

Y/n grabbed the younger girl by the shoulders “We must leave. The guards are looking for you.” She told her. Arya nodded, taking Y/n’s hand securely before she began pushing her way through many people, and when they reached ground level, looking up the tower of the hand she realized what Arya was doing “They already have your father. We must go.”

The sound of steel hitting steel came from the windows of the tower. “Feat cuts deeper than swords,” Arya said aloud. 

Y/n had let Arya lead her, though Y/n knew the city, she had never really been near other exit points of the castle. Only the main one. 

The exited through the stables, where Y/n could shed off the silks of her dress and be left in her corset and petticoat. Her chemise underneath both of them. She set the silks down in the hay and turned to see Arya looking at a master of horse. He’d been stabbed so many times that Y/n was sure he had to be dead.

As Arya crept closer to him, he opened his eyes. “Arya Underfoot,” He whispered “You must… warn your… your lord father …” the blood that was coming from his mouth was frothy. 

He closed his eyes, and his chest stopped moving. “We have to move.” 

They kept going, crossing the back of a wagon before they saw that the wagon had dropped a chest of clothes. 

She and the Stark had the same idea. She grabbed a cloak, skirt, and a silk tunic. She found a fairly large satin tunic and skirt to go with it, as well as a cloak. 

Arya dug through the chest’s contents for a moment, pulling clothes from the topled over chest to get to what she was looking for. 

“There they are.” A voice hissed behind them. Both startled, they turned to look and saw a stable boy. 

“Who are you?” Arya asked. But Y/n knew him. She’d seen him a few times, not many. 

“A stableboy.” Y/n spat, continuing to dress herself in the new clothes that didn’t scream out her royal status. 

“She don’t know me,” He said, “but I knows her, oh, yes. The wolf girl.”

“Help me saddle a horse,” Arya pleaded, reaching back into the chest, groping for Needle. “My father’s the Hand of the King, he’ll reward you.”

“Father’s dead,” the boy said. He shuffled toward her. “It’s the queen who’ll be rewarding me. Come here, girl.” 

“Stay away!” Arya shouted, grabbing hold of something from the chest, while Y/n went to block him from Arya. 

“I says, come.” He grabbed Y/n arm, hard, pushing her to the ground so he could get the Stark girl. 

She went to the stone ground hard, falling onto her side. Scrapping her shoulder and cheek all at once, the blood taking it’s sweet time to reach her skin. 

But she heard the sound of steel meeting skin. Turning her body over to look she saw Arya holding a slim rapier, a majority of the steel buried in the boy’s stomach. 

“Oh gods,” He moaned, his white tunic beginning to turn red. “Take it out.” He pleaded. 

Arya did and he fell to the ground. They were both terrified in the face of death. Y/n had never seen someone get stabbed, and die. 

Quickly she pushed herself from the ground, She grabbed Arya and began to run.


	9. Chapter 9

How long it had been since she and Arya had been on the streets, she didn’t know. All she did know was that the child was growing. She could swear she’d have the baby any day now. Her stomach had rounded out Only a few moons ago she felt the child move. The little butterfly movements of Jon Snow’s child in her stomach. 

Y/n had always been good at sneaking around, secretly stealing things from her brothers and sister, sometimes even her mother or Miza. All in good fun of course, not with any real animosity towards them. But now, she had to sneak around in order to feed herself and Arya. Arya often killed pigeons for them to eat, but Y/n was good at bargaining, she had sold two of the pigeons for four coppers. They ate mainly pastries that night. Everything else they had to cook, and they didn’t have a fire. 

Y/n became good at stealing bread from bakers. A strange thing to become good at. A strange thing to be proud of. But she had to. For Arya and the baby. She didn’t care much about herself. But she wanted to see her stomach grow more, it told her the child was growing healthy.

Y/n was looking for the young girl, she had run off to go kill some more pigeons, and that had been in the early morning, it was the afternoon now, she should have been back. Y/n had walked to check the gates in the morning. The only two that were open to those leaving had Lannister guards posted there. Searching anyone who dared to leave the city gates. Y/n had her ruby necklace on. She wouldn’t take it off, she refused. They’d see it. And she was sure her mother had told them all to get her if they saw her with the necklace.

But when she had grown close to the sept she heard a bell. A singular one. Not the lot of them that had rang for a day and night after Robert’s death. This was a summoning bell.

She looked up above on of the brothels she was passing and saw the tip of the sept. “Gods.” She murmured, before carefully taking her leave to the Great Sept of Baelor. Perhaps she could speak to her mother in private if she was there, or asked Sandor something. He was large, and scarey, even to her, but she always kept it contained. She was sure she could talk some sense into him to help get her and Arya out. Did he have much power? No, but if her brother was asleep at night, he could sneak away and help them. People wouldn’t second guess him escorting two girls out of the city. 

It seemed the whole city was there, packed tighter together than a group of dancers next to the iron throne during a ball. No one wanted to get pricked by the edge of a sword in front of the king, at least, that’s what she was able to observe. 

But Y/n had shoved her way through the crowd of people, being able to get close to where her brother and mother would be. Where she could see what was happening and why. 

But all Y/n was was Ned Stark standing at the High Septon’s pulpit right outside the doors of the sept. He was being held up by two of the gold cloaks, he looked skinnier than she remembered. His cast looked as if it hadn’t been changed for the months they hadn’t been in the red keep. More than likely infected.

She saw Joffrey, his crimson silk and satin was embroidered with dancing stags and roaring lions. He wore a golden crown on his head, her mother wore a black mourning dress, with a slash of crimson matching her younger brother. 

She’d already spotted The Hound, and Varys moving among the high lords in usual soft slippers. She ducked down a little bit when he looked in her direction, but he didn’t pay her a second glance. Not recognizing her due to the rounded stomach she was carrying in front of her. 

“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King,” Ned announced to the crowd, his voice booming amongst the plaza, “and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men.”

Y/n gasped, a hand resting on her belly as she stared up at the lord. The taunts and insults for Ned flew through the air and to her ears. She knew how cruel Joffrey could be. She didn’t want him to ever be king, she had hoped that one day, Robert would outlive him, and when he died, the throne would go to Tommen. A regent could rule in his steed until he came of age. 

“I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert,” He strained to be heard. “I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I lost his daughter, and I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Y/n’s body became stiff as she saw a stone be flown through the air at the northern lord, hitting him in the head, the guards kept him from falling.

It continued, more people picking up stones and throwing them at Ned. Letting them hit him, some missed, some hit the guards. Two of the Kingsguard stepped in front of her mother and brother, shielding them from the onslaught of stone ammo. 

Gods, please protect Lord Eddard Stark, Y/n prayed. Please don’t let my brother harm him.

The High Septon knelt before Joffrey and Cersei. “As we sin, so do we suffer,” He told them, a voice much louder than Ned’s. “This man had confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place. The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”

Y/n could hear nothing but Joffrey when he stepped out from behind one of the guards. “My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.” He spoke, but he looked right at her in that moment, his cold emerald eyes looking straight into her’s. “Dear sister, please, come up here and tell me what I should do with Lord Eddard Stark.”

Everyone looked at her, eyes looking to her stomach, and she hated it. The judgement rolling off them for the child she carried. She clenched her jaw and pushed her way through the people in front of her, going to Joffrey on the steps. He examined her, grabbing her arm roughly, and pulling her to his side. 

“Sister, please tell them all what you wish to happen.” He told Y/n. She took a shakey breath and looked back at Ned. 

“Your Grace, I would wish for you to send him to the Night’s Watch for his crimes against the crown. Let him die in the north, in Castle Black as a Ranger under Jeor Mormont.” You told him. Loud enough for the crowd.

He smiled at you and looked to the crowd. “They have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!”

“No!” She exclaimed, looking to Joffrey, she went to turn and run to Ned, not knowing what it would do, nothing maybe, but Joffrey grabbed her, his rough grip pulling her back to him, 

“Joffrey you can’t! You’ll start a war!” She screamed, hitting his chest in an attempt for him to release her. “Let me go!”

She could hear Sansa screaming from behind her, as she fought with her brother. She had never been strong, Joffrey was stronger than her, keeping her against him in a firm grip, 

She watched helplessly as she pushed against Joffrey, watching as Ser Ilyn used Ned’s own sword. Bringing it above his head and letting it come down onto Ned’s neck.

She screamed out in shock, suddenly turning into Joffrey’s grasp, wrapping her arms around his neck. “All will be well, sweet sister.” He spoke, rubbing her back in a soothing notion. The shiver went up her spine at how heartless he could be one moment, and caring the next. 

She pulled back from him and stared at him. “You’ve started a war.” Y/n told him, pushing him off of her. “You’re a cruel, idiot of a king. You’ve made many enemies this day.”


	10. Chapter 10

How long it had been since she and Arya had been on the streets, she didn’t know. All she did know was that the child was growing. She could swear she’d have the baby any day now. Her stomach had rounded out Only a few moons ago she felt the child move. The little butterfly movements of Jon Snow’s child in her stomach. 

Y/n had always been good at sneaking around, secretly stealing things from her brothers and sister, sometimes even her mother or Miza. All in good fun of course, not with any real animosity towards them. But now, she had to sneak around in order to feed herself and Arya. Arya often killed pigeons for them to eat, but Y/n was good at bargaining, she had sold two of the pigeons for four coppers. They ate mainly pastries that night. Everything else they had to cook, and they didn’t have a fire. 

Y/n became good at stealing bread from bakers. A strange thing to become good at. A strange thing to be proud of. But she had to. For Arya and the baby. She didn’t care much about herself. But she wanted to see her stomach grow more, it told her the child was growing healthy.

Y/n was looking for the young girl, she had run off to go kill some more pigeons, and that had been in the early morning, it was the afternoon now, she should have been back. Y/n had walked to check the gates in the morning. The only two that were open to those leaving had Lannister guards posted there. Searching anyone who dared to leave the city gates. Y/n had her ruby necklace on. She wouldn’t take it off, she refused. They’d see it. And she was sure her mother had told them all to get her if they saw her with the necklace.

But when she had grown close to the sept she heard a bell. A singular one. Not the lot of them that had rang for a day and night after Robert’s death. This was a summoning bell.

She looked up above on of the brothels she was passing and saw the tip of the sept. “Gods.” She murmured, before carefully taking her leave to the Great Sept of Baelor. Perhaps she could speak to her mother in private if she was there, or asked Sandor something. He was large, and scarey, even to her, but she always kept it contained. She was sure she could talk some sense into him to help get her and Arya out. Did he have much power? No, but if her brother was asleep at night, he could sneak away and help them. People wouldn’t second guess him escorting two girls out of the city. 

It seemed the whole city was there, packed tighter together than a group of dancers next to the iron throne during a ball. No one wanted to get pricked by the edge of a sword in front of the king, at least, that’s what she was able to observe. 

But Y/n had shoved her way through the crowd of people, being able to get close to where her brother and mother would be. Where she could see what was happening and why. 

But all Y/n was was Ned Stark standing at the High Septon’s pulpit right outside the doors of the sept. He was being held up by two of the gold cloaks, he looked skinnier than she remembered. His cast looked as if it hadn’t been changed for the months they hadn’t been in the red keep. More than likely infected.

She saw Joffrey, his crimson silk and satin was embroidered with dancing stags and roaring lions. He wore a golden crown on his head, her mother wore a black mourning dress, with a slash of crimson matching her younger brother. 

She’d already spotted The Hound, and Varys moving among the high lords in usual soft slippers. She ducked down a little bit when he looked in her direction, but he didn’t pay her a second glance. Not recognizing her due to the rounded stomach she was carrying in front of her. 

“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King,” Ned announced to the crowd, his voice booming amongst the plaza, “and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men.”

Y/n gasped, a hand resting on her belly as she stared up at the lord. The taunts and insults for Ned flew through the air and to her ears. She knew how cruel Joffrey could be. She didn’t want him to ever be king, she had hoped that one day, Robert would outlive him, and when he died, the throne would go to Tommen. A regent could rule in his steed until he came of age. 

“I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert,” He strained to be heard. “I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I lost his daughter, and I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Y/n’s body became stiff as she saw a stone be flown through the air at the northern lord, hitting him in the head, the guards kept him from falling.

It continued, more people picking up stones and throwing them at Ned. Letting them hit him, some missed, some hit the guards. Two of the Kingsguard stepped in front of her mother and brother, shielding them from the onslaught of stone ammo. 

Gods, please protect Lord Eddard Stark, Y/n prayed. Please don’t let my brother harm him.

The High Septon knelt before Joffrey and Cersei. “As we sin, so do we suffer,” He told them, a voice much louder than Ned’s. “This man had confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place. The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”

Y/n could hear nothing but Joffrey when he stepped out from behind one of the guards. “My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.” He spoke, but he looked right at her in that moment, his cold emerald eyes looking straight into her’s. “Dear sister, please, come up here and tell me what I should do with Lord Eddard Stark.”

Everyone looked at her, eyes looking to her stomach, and she hated it. The judgement rolling off them for the child she carried. She clenched her jaw and pushed her way through the people in front of her, going to Joffrey on the steps. He examined her, grabbing her arm roughly, and pulling her to his side. 

“Sister, please tell them all what you wish to happen.” He told Y/n. She took a shakey breath and looked back at Ned. 

“Your Grace, I would wish for you to send him to the Night’s Watch for his crimes against the crown. Let him die in the north, in Castle Black as a Ranger under Jeor Mormont.” You told him. Loud enough for the crowd.

He smiled at you and looked to the crowd. “They have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!”

“No!” She exclaimed, looking to Joffrey, she went to turn and run to Ned, not knowing what it would do, nothing maybe, but Joffrey grabbed her, his rough grip pulling her back to him, 

“Joffrey you can’t! You’ll start a war!” She screamed, hitting his chest in an attempt for him to release her. “Let me go!”

She could hear Sansa screaming from behind her, as she fought with her brother. She had never been strong, Joffrey was stronger than her, keeping her against him in a firm grip, 

She watched helplessly as she pushed against Joffrey, watching as Ser Ilyn used Ned’s own sword. Bringing it above his head and letting it come down onto Ned’s neck.

She screamed out in shock, suddenly turning into Joffrey’s grasp, wrapping her arms around his neck. “All will be well, sweet sister.” He spoke, rubbing her back in a soothing notion. The shiver went up her spine at how heartless he could be one moment, and caring the next. 

She pulled back from him and stared at him. “You’ve started a war.” Y/n told him, pushing him off of her. “You’re a cruel, idiot of a king. You’ve made many enemies this day.”


End file.
